


Hannigram Holiday Exchange Ficlet Collection!

by chelseyelric



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Flirting, M/M, Secret Santa, Tumblr: hannigramholidayexchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseyelric/pseuds/chelseyelric
Summary: My secret santa gift for the lovely merrythought on tumblr. Just a collection of fics and ficlets (not particularly about the holidays ) staring our favorite couple.





	1. Embarrassed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merrythought](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrythought/gifts).



> None of these really have a connecting theme. I just sort of started writing a month ago and couldn't seem to stop! XD Please let me know if you think I should add tags or change the age rating. 
> 
> Feedback would also be absolutely wonderful ;3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"I don't understand."

 

"It's okay." Will reassured, stifling a yawn.

 

"This hasn't happened since I was young. A teenager."

 

"It happens to everyone."

 

"Can you ever forgive me for this embarrassment, Will?"

 

Will rolled his eyes so hard, he was concerned that he may well lose consciousness. He was sitting on the couch, cradling a distraught Hannibal in his arms like a small child, rocking him back and forth for what was going on to be twenty minutes. Though he understood Hannibal's initial reaction, Hannibal being the hopeless perfectionist that he was, Will couldn't fathom as to why the man was still so upset hours later.

 

"Hannibal, look at me."

 

Maroon eyes reluctantly glanced up from under tented brows, looking more vulnerable than Will had ever seen them.

 

"Tell me why you're so upset over this."

 

His eyes slid downward again. 

 

"Because it's horrible. And a waste. To think, I had you all worked up for it and then..." 

 

Hannibal trailed off, voice sounding a bit scratchy. Oh, lord, if he actually cried over this...

 

Will shifted Hannibal to the side and knelt in front of him, looking tired but determined.

 

"What about all the times it's happened to me, Hannibal? Did you think that I was embarrassing?"

 

He seemed to take the question very seriously because in an instant, his features were schooled into some semblance of their normal apathy. "Of course not."

 

"And why is that?"

 

"I found it quite endearing that you lasted as long as you had, given that it was all so new to you. And because it..." It was obvious that he didn't want to parrot Will's earlier phrasing, but Will finished for him.

 

"Because it happens to everyone. Doesn't it, Hannibal?"

 

No reply.

 

Will gently grasped the man's hand.

 

"And whether you like it or not, you are included in that everyone."

 

Hannibal's plush upper lip jutted in a pout. So stubborn.

 

"For God's sake, Hannibal! You burnt some food! The world keeps spinning."

 

Hannibal's mouth remained downturned in a gentle moue. "It was your favorite flavor of pie."

 

"And I forgive you. Can we please go to bed now?"


	2. Control

Hannibal had encountered many tests of his control in his lifetime. Unsurprisingly, most of them had involved Will Graham in some way or another.

 

This time was no different.

 

As they sat outside of a quiet bistro near the docks, Will slipped back and forth between English and Italian, proud and beaming at just how well his new language was coming.

 

Little did Will know that he'd not done as well as he'd thought when ordering their drinks.

 

Rather than requesting a cup of coffee with one pump of cream, Will had asked the coffee maker for, what tasted like, straight espresso in a mug. The pitch black concoction in Hannibal's cup (he refused to call it coffee) was absolutely intolerable.

 

To anyone else, that is. But he could force himself to stand it. For Will's pride.

 

Hannibal acted as if it were wonderful, strategically raising his cup to his lips every so often while Will spoke to smoothly gulp some down. His gag reflex wanted to protest, tried to force Hannibal to reconsider what he was doing, but his control, when he chose to exercise it, was iron clad.

 

Without a flinch or grimace, he returned the mug to the table top, nodding as Will commented on this and that. Hannibal even licked a stray drop from the corner of his mouth for added effect. 

 

Will sipped a bit of his own coffee, his face quickly screwing up in obvious distaste.

 

"Oh, God. I guess I need to work a little more on my ordering skills."

 

He turned his head around sheepishly, making sure that no one was paying them much attention. Once he was certain, Will gently brushed the calloused pads of his fingers against Hannibal's open palm. "I'm glad that I at least managed to get yours right."

 

Hannibal smiled at the small display of affection that Will was normally so uncertain about.

 

Yes, Hannibal could put up with this self inflicted torture. 

 

If only for that loving look.


	3. Dancer

Hannibal decided that his associate would pay dearly in the near future for misleading him so grievously. Most likely with their life. 

Less than a week prior, Hannibal had been invited by one Mr. Smithe, a man he'd met in passing through the occasional psychiatry convention, to attend a banquet to raise funds for a notable charity, hosted, in part, by his son.

As he contemplated a future menu starring Mr. Smithe, the lights dimmed, plunging the guests of this so called ASPCA "banquet" into darkness. 

Banquet, indeed. Lukewarm steaks and overcooked, under seasoned chicken breasts in a run down high school gymnasium. Needless to say, Hannibal had not been satisfied.

Perhaps he would prepare the man's tongue in the Mexican style of lengua, cooking it slowly over time until tender in a simple broth containing onion, garlic and jalapeño peppers.

"Thank you all for being so patient! The performance is about to begin!" boomed an unseen speaker.

Oh, good. There was to be an "and a show" to this dinner. His vengeance couldn't come soon enough.

"Now, for those of you who haven't been to one of these, let me run it down real quick."

A young woman wearing an unimpressive floral dress and overly exaggerated smile stepped onto the stage.

"The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, or ASPCA, is one of the largest, most well known animal charities in the U.S. Just by being here, caring and donating, you all are honorary members of the ASPCA! Give yourselves a hand!"

A moderate applause broke out and Hannibal apathetically joined, wishing this evening a swift end.

"That being said, we tend to forget about all of the magnificent people who work and volunteer with us behind the scenes on a regular basis to assure that all money and care given is used to the best of the organization's abilities. That is why certain members of the local Baltimore Branch are here to perform various acts to represent a few of the many pieces and parts that make this all happen everyday!"

More applause lead by the woman, who hit the mic against her palm a bit too hard, causing irritating feedback.

"The first performer we welcome to the stage is Ms. Kaitlyn O'Brian!"

A different woman, a bit younger than the announcer, scuttled noisily onto the stage. The blonde was dressed in a skin-tight, green suit, which was covered in a laughable amount of green and yellow feathers. At first, Hannibal believed this to be a joke, but when the jazz number began and she promptly started her tap routine, Hannibal escaped to his mind palace for a bit.

Once the dancing came to a welcome end, a young man in an ill fitting business suit replaced her to deliver a poem about the human side of the animal organization. It wasn't terrible.

Next was a man dressed as a lizard and a woman dressed as a cat portraying, through mirrored pantomime, that pets could take many forms and be equally loved or some such nonsense.

Hannibal genuinely began considering hailing a cab when the lights dimmed completely. Confused, his eyes shot to the front.

"Now, for a more tragic side to this business. In a moment, Mr. Will Graham, a long time volunteer, will be performing an interpretive dance depicting the life of an abandoned dog."

Hannibal's mind immediately conjured up an image of someone in a silly, full body suit, scampering about to slow tuba music.

Again, he made to stand, but paused as an incredibly bass guitar heavy song began to pulse through the speakers and the overhead lights pulsed. Hannibal could feel the beat reverberating in his ribcage, enticing him to sit once more. That was when he saw him. 

The performer, Will, was atoned, barefooted man in tight fitting, black leotard pants, sporting thick curly hair and five o'clock shadow. That was all Hannibal could make out, as the upper half of his face was covered by a pitch black geometric canine mask, giving the impression that he belonged in the company of the court of Anubis rather than this silly display.

Will crouched low and surveyed his surroundings with slow, premeditated gestures. He then bent onto all fours and stalked around the stage. The music began to pulse and the man moved purposefully to its thudding tones. Hannibal found himself entranced by the movements, the bunching and lengthening of Will's muscles utterly mesmerizing.

As quick as lightning, Will lay on his stomach and lashed out a hand with his fingers curved to symbolize claws, pawing agitatedly at the air before backing up into a tight ball. The music picked up its rhythm and the man raised his head to the left as if called, giving a pantomime of a sniff. He then rolled and scampered in the other direction, baring his teeth in a positively feral growl.

Hannibal's heart leapt as the man went rigid then leant backwards, his knees bending until his calfs were tucked beneath him and his back rested flat on the floor in a fine show of flexibility. The man's chest was heaving from his exercise and Hannibal was suddenly grateful for his near front row seat.

Rolling onto all fours again, the music slowed to a much more melancholy tone. Will's movement slowed, and he appeared to have acquired a limp. One more exaggerated step and the man went down, heaving, whether strictly in show or due to the exertion of his performance, Hannibal wasn't sure, but he was absolutely enraptured.

A final, deep note sounded and the man gave a loud gasping huff. A final breath as the lights dimmed.

Hannibal was the first to stand, but rather than attempt to escape as he had been planning, he offered ovation as if he were ordered to do so. 

The house lights came back up and the curtain parted, revealing the performers who had all participated in the show.

Each took a turn stepping forward and bowing as their names were called. The dog man, Will, kept his mask on, stepping forward to bow stiffly, unlike his fluid performance, as the announcer spoke of his many accomplishments with the ASPCA.

Interesting, Hannibal thought as Will rushed off the stage before the others. Very interesting.

Perhaps he would allow Mr. Smithe to live if he were able to stage a meeting with this man that had so wholly captured Hannibal’s attention.


	4. Model

"Okay, get ready for the sweater that launched a thousand ships," Will warned from the kitchen.

 

Hannibal lounged on the sofa of their new home, eggnog in hand, the scent of gingerbread in the air. He’d never really been one to celebrate the holidays himself, normally altering his murders around this time of year to have a more intricate, Yuletide theme. 

 

But aside from that, nothing. 

 

A year ago, had anyone asked, Hannibal would have insisted that Will shared his apathy toward the season, sworn the person asking mad at the very notion of him finding any kind of enjoyment in the holidays. 

 

But Will hadn't been close to anyone in a great while, and the holidays brought so many types of people together. Friends, family and lovers alike. Such a warm and domestic time. When Hannibal had found out, it all just seemed to fit Will perfectly. 

 

At the empath’s suggestion to decorate the house and maybe, possibly, attend the party in the small town square on Christmas Eve, Hannibal had decided that Will deserved this, a bit of happiness for happiness' sake, as well as so much more.

 

He came from behind the wall that divided the living room and the kitchen, strutting and posing confidently in the light of the Christmas tree like a model on a catwalk.

 

However, what hugged Will's lithe frame was far from fashionable.

 

Not only was the garment much too large, but "Stuff My Stocking" was printed in puffy, block lettering across the front. Complete with actual, functioning stockings sown in a seemingly random order, one of them filled with small toys. It was truly a sight to behold.

 

Hannibal nearly choked on his current sip of eggnog, needing to set the mug down so as not to make a huge mess of the new carpet.

 

"What are you talking about?" He argued with a mock serious tone and smile on his lips. "That's the best one you've tried all night."

 

Will grinned, doing a dramatic turn and making most of the stockings sway.

 

"All night? This old thing? What about the one that lit up?"

 

Hannibal rolled his eyes, relaxing more into the couch.

 

"It is definitely better than the one that lit up. For starters, it's much more tasteful."

 

"It says Stuff My Stocking!"

 

"The other had twin Christmas trees with glowing stars that sat directly over your nipples!"

 

Will shrugged, a cocky grin on his face. "Alright, fair enough on that one. But what about the one covered in tinsel?"

 

"The one interwoven with cat hair? I couldn't touch you without feeling the urge to scratch my hands off."

 

"And the one with the bells?"

 

"The dogs didn't seem to like that one or the one that sang," Hannibal shot back, raising his cup to his lips once more.

 

"Okay, fair enough," Will conceded, gliding over to easily take his place sidesaddle in Hannibal's lap. "This one, then?"

 

"This one for certain. You will be the center of attention at the celebration tomorrow."

 

Will snuggled in close. "You mean WE will be the center of attention."

 

Hannibal beamed, his sharp canines showing. "You bought a pair?"

 

"But of course." Will shot back with a wink.

 

Hannibal pulled him into a gentle kiss, his lips tasting like spiced rum and nutmeg.

 

"You are too good to me, mylimasis."

 

"I know."


	5. Decked

“Oh my God, Hannibal, I am so sorry! I have absolutely no idea what came over me!”

 

The good doctor sat in Will’s office chair, head tilted skyward to slow the bleeding from his wounded nose.

 

It wasn’t broken, at least, but there would definitely be bruising and swelling. 

 

Will had really done a number on him.

 

A few minutes prior, Hannibal had arrived at the academy in search of Will and an explanation as to why he’d blown off their appointment. The lights had been dimmed and the room empty save for the empath still at his desk.

 

“Will?” Hannibal had called out to him. No reply.

 

“Will.” Still nothing.

 

He’d approached with caution, glancing around to be sure that nothing else was amiss and had tentatively reached out to gently rouse Will from his trance.

 

What he hadn’t expected was to be struck square in the face by one of the most solid punches he’d ever experienced.

 

The blow had caused his head to ricochet back and pain to spread lightning fast all the way down to his neck. He grunted as white exploded across his vision. Hannibal grabbed ahold of his nose and prepared to fight back, when he saw that Will wasn’t even looking in his direction.

 

His hand was still balled in a tight fist, hanging in the air where he stood. His seafoam eyes were vacant.

 

Hannibal regained what he could of his composure, pulling out a hanky from his jacket pocket to save his suit from being ruined by the drops of blood he felt threatening to fall.

 

He wasn't aware of Will coming to his senses until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.

 

“Hannibal!? Are you okay? Oh, Christ, did I punch you!?”

 

Hannibal glanced at Will, tears welling in his maroon eyes and Will became frantic.

 

“Sit down! Here, take my chair.”

 

Hannibal gratefully took the seat as he nursed his throbbing nose.

 

“I'm...fine,” he managed to get out but Will didn't seem to buy it.

 

Which brought them to the present as both apologies and blood flowed freely.

 

Will knelt and kept getting his palms close to Hannibal only to pull them away as it was obvious he didn't know how exactly to help in a situation like this. He settled for placing his shaking hands on the tops of Hannibal's knees in a comforting gesture.

 

A few more minutes of waiting and the stream slowed enough to allow Hannibal to return his head to a normal position. Oddly enough, he felt a smile forming on his lips.

 

“At least I can rest assured that you can take care of yourself even while unconscious,” he chuckled but immediately regretted it as the pounding worsened behind his eyes.

 

Will stared blankly at him, at a loss. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I came to check on you, Will. You missed our appointment.”

 

Shock blossomed on Will’s handsome features. “What time is it?”

 

“Nearly 10pm.” Hannibal gingerly dabbed at his nose again and the section came away nearly clean. “I have a strict 24 hour cancellation policy.”

 

He meant it as a joke but it had obviously flown right over Will’s head in his worry. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. First I waste your time and make you worry, then you drive all the way out here and I involuntarily deck you.”

 

He tried to retract his hands from their perch in Hannibal's lap, no doubt to put the normal “Will Graham approved” amount of space between them, but Hannibal placed his own, partly bloody hand atop one of Will’s. The empath paused.

 

“How is your hand?”

 

Will gave him an odd look. “Did I give you a concussion? Why the hell do you care about my hand at a time like this?”

 

“Regardless, I am still a doctor and your friend. Your well being is just as important as my own,” Hannibal replied without missing a beat, examining the man’s knuckles with an expression of concentration. “And, perhaps it's the head trauma talking,” he continued, “but would you, perhaps, like to accompany me home, Will?”

 

The question yielded the desired effect, Will’s handsome features blooming with embarrassed color. Hannibal allowed a beat to pass between them before finishing. “I could use someone to stay up with me tonight. Monitor my condition.”

 

Will needn’t know that only with severe concussions did one need to stay awake and anything wrong with Hannibal was far from severe as far as he could tell. He need only know that Hannibal desired his company.

 

If he knew Will, and he liked to think that he did, the man would say yes.

 

“...your car or mine?”


	6. Halo

Hannibal reflexively reached for Will, expecting his fingers to grasp soft, warm flesh. Instead, he found nothing but empty air and a cooling section of mattress. A questioning noise escaped him, still balancing precariously between wakefulness and dreams, as he opened a single maroon eye.

 

Nothing. Or, rather, no one.

 

Waking up in the middle of the night beside an empty patch of sheets where your husband should be can be a bit confusing. But, just as Hannibal began to seriously contemplate what the emptiness meant, the distinct sound of a toilet being flushed cut through the dark and silence.

 

"Bathroom," Hannibal murmured, rolling onto his left side to greet his beloved on his return.

 

Minutes stretched into what felt like a sleepless eternity for him, but he stubbornly insisted that his heavy lids stay open until he could see Will. Hannibal's more logical side called him foolish, as his waiting wouldn't change anything in the end, but the love sick part of his brain seemed to be more active.

 

Three years. Three long years Hannibal had waited to be reunited with Will, sustained only by his mind palace's conjurings and memories of him. 

 

Hannibal would not be denied simple reassurance that Will was truly with him if he so pleased.

 

Gentle footfalls sounded down the hall, a single shadowed silhouette bobbing along the wall.

 

He was going to say something, give some witty quip or remark about the situation, but any words that had sprung forth from Hannibal's mind died a swift death on his tongue.

 

His weary eyes beheld his beautiful Will. In the luminescence from the hall, he seemed to be gently haloed by the soft, artificial light. Hannibal’s own white button-up hung loosely and mostly unfastened on his lithe torso. 

 

He appeared as one of the heavenly hosts.

 

“Oops,” Will mumbled, combing a hand through his disheveled curls. “Forgot the light.”

 

Will turned to right his mistake but found himself unable to move. He hadn't noticed Hannibal reach out to take hold of the edge of his shirt.

 

“Come to bed, Will.”

 

The empath groggily raised a brow. “I will. Just let me hit the bathroom-”

 

“Now, please.”

 

Hannibal’s tone brought Will more to awareness, his stormy blue eyes focusing in the near dark. Hannibal’s gaze was heavy with intent as his fingers tightened their grip, his eyes longingly beckoning for Will to heed their owner’s request.

 

With a sigh, Will stepped closer to the bed, gathering back the sheets as Hannibal made room.

 

“Don’t blame me when you can’t sleep because it’s too bright.”

 

Hannibal spooned tenderly behind Will, nuzzling affectionately into his neck and choosing to ignore the warning.

 

“What did I do to deserve an angel like you?”

 

Will released a gust of air. “Go back to sleep, Hanni.”

 

Hannibal grumbled, pulling Will closer. Will couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a small smile as he tucked Hannibal’s chilly feet snugly between his own, much warmer ones.

 

“Ask me again in the morning.”


	7. Tears

There had been only two things known to have moved Will Graham to tears in his life. 

 

His marriage to Hannibal had been one and holding their son for the first time had been the other.

 

But, now, there was, apparently, a third.

 

Will stood to the left of the TV, its light filtering and shifting over the forms of Hannibal and Ennui lying asleep together on the couch. Hannibal curled protectively around their son’s tiny form, his dress shirt slightly untucked from his pants. The four-year-old’s chubby fingers curled and uncurled gently at Hannibal’s shoulder as he dreamt.

 

It was the most beautifully domestic thing that Will had ever seen and he found himself swiping at his eyes for a few minutes to get them to stay dry.

 

He went to grab a blanket from the back of a nearby chair, the fleecy one that matched the reindeer footie pajamas Ennui insisted on wearing every night since he’d gotten them, and draped it tenderly over the two most important people in his life.

 

He was so unbelievably lucky.

 

Will couldn’t resist leaning over to place a soft kiss on each of their foreheads.

 

“I’ll protect you both forever,” he promised, sniffling.

 

Hannibal roused slightly and groggily turned to face Will beside him. 

 

“Protect? From what, love?”

 

Will lovingly stroked the indents that the couch cushions had left on Hannibal’s cheek.

 

“Anything. Everything.”


	8. Frigid

Will coiled his arms sensually around Hannibal's middle, ruffling his shirt and pressing his chest against his back. "Dr. Lecter," he cooed.

Hannibal's concentration never faltered, his hands continuing their steady chopping motion even as his husband adhered himself to his torso. "May I help you with something?"

Will gently pressed his lips to the side of Hannibal's neck from behind. A hum of appreciation.

"We're taking the dogs for a walk this afternoon." A press of lips to the other side. "And then we're returning home to have mind blowing, rafter shaking sex."

Pleasant shivers ran through Hannibal's frame at the words, heavy with lust with a slight bite of assertion. "Oh?" He asked in a way that sounded quite like a moan toward the end. "That sounds almost like a threat, William."

A light scrape of teeth added to the soft kisses. "Oh, it is."

At this, Hannibal couldn't help but perk, both mentally and below the waist. He waited with bated breath to be told what would happen next.

"Because, you see, my hands are incredibly cold. And I would hate to have to...touch your ribs."

That gave Hannibal pause. His arousal was still buzzing just beneath the surface but now, along side it, was an odd bit of hysteria. Will knew how much he hated being touched with icy fingers but the playful threats were still very much getting him in the mood.

"No, please, Mr. Graham. I'll do whatever you like. You simply need ask. But, please, may I make one suggestion?"

Will's hands slid achingly slow around his waist in warning. "It'd better be a good one." He growled with a smile.

"Could we, please, reverse the order?"

"You're so cute when you beg."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to all! XD


End file.
